


The Tower

by Iolre



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Brief mentions of war, Fantasy, Kind of Sci-fi-y, M/M, Psychics, Slow Build, Telekinetics, telepaths, to be added - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-08 18:49:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1952238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iolre/pseuds/Iolre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He tolerates flight?” he inquired.</p>
<p>“Oddly, yes.” Anthea shivered.</p>
<p>“Have him here tomorrow, then,” Mycroft said, pushing John Watson's file back towards her.</p>
<p>“You haven’t even heard about the third person,” she protested.</p>
<p>“I don’t need to.” Mycroft looked at her, and this was the Prime speaking, not the person. “I have made my decision. You will start his training. Introduce him to the T4/T5 teams. Do what you need to do, Anthea.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The world for this is based loosely on [The Rowan](). There are plenty of deviations, mostly because I didn't want this to be based completely on that world and partially due to a bad memory.
> 
> This is being written for the fabulous [bootsnblossoms]() as part of the AU Exchange. :D Enjoy~

Mycroft sank into his chair, shifting slightly to make himself more comfortable. He wasn’t going to move for at least three hours and he didn’t want to get up with cramps in any of his muscles. There was a particularly large passenger ship coming in from Archimedes, and it was his responsibility to ensure that it landed safely.

He lowered his mental shields, grimacing as he became aware of all the psychic noise around him. So few of the lower-level Talents knew how to control themselves or how to control all of the thoughts and sounds that their power emitted. As a Prime, a T1, Mycroft was aware of it all, could hear everything that they thought. It was overwhelming at the best of times. That was why his mother, a T1 herself, had taught him how to enact a shield at a young age.

He opened the steel shields that protected the wide bay windows, watching intently as the deep blue/black of space appeared around him. _Anthea._ Mycroft reached out, locating his assistant somewhere on the third floor. _What is she doing down there?_ Frowning, he sent out a pulse of energy, a question, and got a quick answer.

_A moment_ , she said. Mycroft rolled his eyes to demonstrate his impatience. She could sense it, being a T3 telepath. _You need a T2 assistant, Mycroft_ , she reprimanded. _You wouldn’t have to depend so much on me if you did_. Mycroft ignored her, focusing instead on the ship that he could feel entering his range.

_I have you_ , he shot back with the appropriate scolding tone. She sighed and he could feel her break into a run, heading as quickly as she could to the Tower. “Notify the T4 and T5 teams,” he told the computer, placing his hands into the appropriately shaped casts on the arm rests. It was always a strange feeling, dialing into his tower, but Mycroft had long learned to love it. He faintly heard the door open, heard Anthea come in and assume her spot just behind him to the left.

“Teams have been notified,” she murmured, her eyes unfocused as she just listened to everything going on in the tower. “The captain is waiting for your command.”

Mycroft closed his eyes and cast out a net of energy, searching for the dot that was the ship. He found just as it was starting to enter Earth’s orbit. “I have the ship,” he said, locking onto it. His breath caught in his throat as he felt the ship’s engines shift, preparing the ship to be taxied down through Earth’s atmosphere.

“Preparing for a landing in Bay 3C,” Anthea said, her voice carefully modulated to not break his concentration. “Hangar doors are open.”

“Noted.” Inch by tiny inch, Mycroft moved the passenger ship, guiding it through Earth’s atmosphere and carefully into its hangar. It was difficult work; passenger ships always were. He hated them, much preferring cargo ships or other unoccupied vehicles. Passenger ships were noisy, full of regular people or Talents who didn’t think about the Prime charged with moving them.

“The ship has cleared the window,” Anthea said. Mycroft nodded slightly, the majority of his attention focused on maintaining a constant speed and direction. He couldn’t rock a ship full of people, not when he needed to keep his reputation. Ever so gently the ship came to land without any problems. Exhaling in relief, Mycroft broke his connection to the passenger ship and opened his physical eyes.

He was drenched in sweat, pale and shaky. Anthea didn’t fare much better. “You need a T2,” she said stubbornly, offering him a towel. “I can’t support you like they could.”

“I don’t want one,” Mycroft said sharply, glancing at the clock with a frown. It had taken four hours, the majority of which had been spent in deep concentration. That was unacceptable. His fourteen year old brother could do better than that. Maybe Anthea was right.

When he looked at her, he saw her smug expression and scowled. “That’s rude,” he told her, taking a few moments to put his shield back up.

“You Primes are all the same,” she retorted, sassy in her exhaustion. “You’re so concerned about blocking your mind that you don’t think to control your face. I didn’t have to feel it, Mycroft, I could see it.”

“Hmph.” Mycroft rolled his eyes to demonstrate what he thought of that. He stood, careful to hold onto the armrest until he felt stable. It was rare that transports drained him so, but it had been an abnormally large passenger ship. That, and he had spent the last three days pushing and pulling different ore loads from ship to ship at the edge of his range. Bloody miners. “Look into the availability of any potential T2s that would fit in the tower,” he commanded. It wasn’t something he wanted to do - Mycroft rather disliked change of any sort in his personnel - but it was necessary.

Anthea smiled. “Right away. I’ll bring the list to you tonight.”

He nodded, and then slowly walked out of the room and towards his chambers for a nap.

-

Anthea showed up promptly at 9pm with a small pile of papers in her hand. “There are three T2s that I think would suit what you need - and suit you,” she said, spreading them out on the table near Mycroft’s couch. “There’s Sholto - he’s a bit older, but dependable. He worked with Siger, on Allustre.”

“Siger’s dead.” Mycroft waved a hand dismissively. “Next.”

“Just because the Prime’s dead doesn’t kill the T2,” Anthea reprimanded, but she sat the file aside anyway. “Next there is John Watson.” She scanned his file. “Worked as an army doctor on Wirenth. He’s completed tower training, but never worked as a T2.”

Mycroft frowned slightly. Why would a T2 volunteer to work as an army doctor when they could make a much better living at a Tower in comfort? “Hand me his file,” he said curtly. Anthea passed it over and Mycroft flicked it open, reading quickly. Older sister, a T6 with no useful skills. T4 and T3 parents - how unusual to have a T2 child, Mycroft thought. Why had he entered the military? Ah. There it was.

“His parents were killed in Wirenth’s war. He was spared because -”

“Because he was a T2,” Mycroft finished. Wirenth was a planet with a particularly bloody history. Wars had been fought for hundreds of years, so long that no one remembered exactly why they had started in the first place. Families were killed, but their children were tested, and any that tested above a T3 level were drafted into training to be useful. “Etoo’s Prime saved him?”

Anthea nodded. “Aristoo brought him to the tower. John was raised there, trained there, but chose to go back to Wirenth and serve as a Doctor for the Caryn branch for two years. He was shot in the shoulder, and that’s what ended his service.”

“Where is he now?” Mycroft inquired, skimming the rest of the file.

“The White Planet. He’s finishing up his rehab and can be here tomorrow.” Mycroft nodded at Anthea’s words, ignoring the way she studied him curiously.

“He tolerates flight?” he inquired.

“Oddly, yes.” Anthea shivered. Flying in space wasn’t as bad for the lesser Talents, but for those T3 and up it could be horrendous. Most weren’t used to the extreme vacuum that space presented or to the thought that all that was separating them from the vacuum was the ship they were in. Mild forms of agoraphobia were common in the higher Talents, which made it difficult for them to tolerate flight.

“Have him here tomorrow, then,” Mycroft said, pushing the file back towards her.

“You haven’t even heard about the third person,” she protested.

“I don’t need to.” Mycroft looked at her, and this was the Prime speaking, not the person. “I have made my decision. You will start his training. Introduce him to the T4/T5 teams. Do what you need to do, Anthea.”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded her head, standing and leaving quickly. He felt a slight hint of regret, something he pushed away. She wasn’t being replaced - he would still keep her. Even though she was a T3 she was familiar, someone who had stood by him for a long time and helped him through the transition to running Earth’s tower on his own when the last Prime died.

Mycroft sighed, clearing his mind of all the pesky emotions, and walked over to the desk where his personal computer sat. He opened it up, spending the better part of an hour pouring over all the records of John Watson he could find electronically. There wasn’t much, and nothing new compared to the file, but the familiarity helped him feel just a little bit better about who he was bringing in to help him run his tower.

Eventually Mycroft had learned all he could, and he knew tomorrow would come soon enough. He went to sleep, John’s file still playing out in his mind.

-

Mycroft was awake eating breakfast when he felt Anthea’s ping. He lowered his shield enough to get an image of her standing at the bay, waiting. The ship would be coming in soon. It was much smaller than the last passenger ship he had moved, small enough that Mycroft could handle it on his own. He sat aside his food and headed into his Tower, preparing for the much shorter time period the ship would require to land.

He lowered his shields completely, the giant windows opening. _Prepare_ , he curtly informed the T4s that were in charge of deflecting any space debris. He felt the acknowledgement and closed his eyes, opening his mind until he could feel the passenger ship. Gripping it with his mind, he secured it so that the captain could prepare the engines for the descent through the atmosphere. He couldn’t help probing the innards of the ship curiously.

Then he felt him, felt John. Mycroft was surprised - most T2s could not tolerate space travel and often had to be sedated. But John was awake, and in control, his mind shielded to Mycroft’s touch and oddly calm. Interesting. “Descending,” he told the computer, who relayed the command to the appropriate parties and did not break his concentration.

It was only forty five minutes later when Mycroft felt the ship gently touch the ground without a single bump. After ensuring that nothing else needed to be done, he broke off his connection and quickly raised his mental shield. Standing, he was pleased to find that he wasn’t feeling drained. Smoothing down the lapels of his suit (he had to look sharp, after all), he closed the windows off and headed down to the hangar. He wanted to be there when John disembarked.

Anthea was standing there when Mycroft arrived, her eyes locked onto the door of the ship. There was only a handful of people on board, which meant disembarkment would happen quickly and take very little time. The door hissed and opened. Mycroft would deny it later, but he held his breath. Worst case, he told himself, he could fire John and have him removed from his Tower. There was a trial period, after all. Or there would be now.

Mycroft recognized him from the pictures he had. John was the second one down the ramp, dressed simply and holding a cane in his right hand. It was from his rehab, Mycroft inferred, but the limp was psychosomatic. His injury had been in his shoulder. John closed his eyes briefly, pausing at the end of the ramp. Mycroft felt the inquisitive probe, felt John identifying who he was. Then John turned in his direction and headed over.

“Hello,” John said, his voice even. His blue eyes were sharp and he shook Mycroft’s hand without breaking eye contact.

“Hello,” Mycroft said, feeling oddly stupid. Surely he would have had more important things to say, something more dignified than just ‘hello’. “This is Anthea. She’s in charge of orienting you to the Tower.”

“But I’ll be working with you?” John studied Mycroft, looking him up and down. Assessing him. It was oddly discomforting.

“Yes. I am the Prime here.” Mycroft inclined his head slightly.

John made a thoughtful noise, then nodded. “Let’s get started.”

Anthea smiled. “If you’ll just come with me,” she said. John cast one last look at Mycroft and then walked after her, leaving Mycroft behind.

Mycroft studied his retreating form. John was far more interesting than he had anticipated, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Still, Mycroft had things to get done, and for now he could push John from his mind. There were several of shipments of ores that needed to be transported from one ship’s orbit to another, and that would keep him occupied for the rest of the day. Mycroft glanced to where John had disappeared with Anthea and then went to go fulfill his duty.

-

It was late before Mycroft finished transporting the last set of ores to its new ship. He was drained, barely able to maintain his shields, and hungry as well. Anthea handed him a towel, and he regarded her with mild surprise. He hadn’t even felt her come in. “You look like you were hit by a cargo ship,” she told him. He smiled faintly.

“Thanks,” he said as she helped him up. “Is John all seen to?”

“Yes,” Anthea said, making sure he was steady before she let go of him. “He’s a quick learner. I think he’ll be ready to work tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Mycroft inquired, startled.

“He gets along with Alda’s crew, he charmed Erise. He can be polite or stern as needed. It’s truly extraordinary to watch.” Anthea did seem impressed. Mycroft couldn’t blame her. Alda was the easy-going, dutiful leader of the T5 crew, but Erise’s prickly temper was legendary. That was partially why Mycroft had put her in charge of the T4s. With Erise, once she liked someone, she would work her crew as hard as she needed to in order to ensure their safety.

“He has been shown the entire Tower?” Mycroft walked slowly to his chambers, Anthea following not far behind.

“All but your Bay,” Anthea confirmed. “He’s got it memorized, too.” Mycroft looked at her, doubtful. “You can quiz him yourself if you want.”

“I will.”

“I know.” Anthea smiled, amused, as they arrived at the door to Mycroft’s chambers. “Need some help?”

Mycroft tested his arms, legs. “I should be okay, thank you. Get some rest. We have a long day tomorrow.”

“Passenger ships?” she inquired.

“Two large cargo ships in the morning, then a slew of passenger ships in the afternoon,” Mycroft confirmed.

She looked mildly horrified. “That’s -”

“A lot, yes.”

It took her a second or two. “You’re testing him,” she realized.

“Yes.” Mycroft smiled at her. “There is no better way to find out what he can do.”

“I’ll have our medic team on standby,” Anthea said, frowning slightly at Mycroft. Apparently she didn’t approve of him risking his health to test his new Talent.

“If he’s to take over second in command, he needs to prove that he can do it,” Mycroft reminded her.

“Still, it’s hardly - gentlemanly to attempt to kill him right off the bat.”

“If he can do it, he won’t be dead.”

Anthea snorted her displeasure with that logic. “I’ll be closely watching both of you.”

Mycroft eyed her sternly. “I shall see you tomorrow.”

Nodding, she turned and left. Mycroft watched her go and then went inside, undressed, and went to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft ate a large breakfast the next morning, knowing that it wasn’t likely that he would get a break for food until after all the moving was done. It was his job to keep the ships moving, otherwise there would be a back-up and it would get messy. Now it was also John’s job. The second in command was there to support him and to keep things moving while the Prime did the heavy lifting. He would also be in charge of assisting in bringing ships in. Not that Mycroft couldn’t handle them on his own - he could - but sometimes it was easiest energy-wise to utilize more than one Talent.

When he got upstairs to the Tower, John was standing outside the door, talking quietly with Anthea. Anthea turned to look at Mycroft when she felt him come up the stairs, and John followed her lead. “Hello,” John said. He offered Mycroft a faint smile, something that made Mycroft’s stomach flip uncomfortably. Nerves, Mycroft told himself. That’s all it was.

“Hello.” Mycroft inclined his head. “We have a long day ahead.”

“I know,” John said smartly. “I checked out the docket. Two cargo ships in the morning, and three passenger ships from Ilren, Castos, and Belros, respectively.”

Mycroft glanced at Anthea and saw her looking unbearably smug. “Correct.”

John simply nodded once in acknowledgement. Mycroft led the way into the Bay, into where they would spend the majority of their day. “Are you familiar with the layout of this room?” Mycroft inquired.

“Anthea gave me a printout,” John said, examining the various mechanics around them. For all that the majority of work was done by their minds, the technology played a role as well. “We didn’t -” He swallowed. “We didn’t have this kind of equipment, on Wirenth.”

Mycroft didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything. “I stand behind you, on the right?” John asked.

“Yes,” Anthea confirmed for Mycroft when he didn’t answer. Mycroft strode forward, settling into his chair. “You’ll be tapped into all of the minds in the tower, mind you, so watch your thoughts because others can hear them.”

The corner of John’s lips quirked up. “Don’t want the whole tower to hear something incriminating?”

Anthea smiled. “Exactly.”

A glance at the clock made Mycroft frown. Two minutes. He let down his shields, shifting in his chair as the noise from everyone around him became uncomfortably loud. There were so many people. Curiously, Mycroft reached out, testing. It was like John was not there. “You have to let your shields down to do this job,” Mycroft said.

“Not all of them.” John’s voice was quiet. He smiled an enigmatic smile, and then turned his attention to the closed bay windows. Mycroft opened them with a wave of his hand.

_Dramatics, Mycroft?_ Anthea seemed amused. _You rarely do anything more than you have to do._

_Shush,_ he told her. She grinned, and John looked at them curiously. Mycroft proceeded to ignore both of them. It was time to get to work, and that was what mattered.

Ten hours later the last of the passenger ships had been safely re-routed and sent to its new destination. Mycroft sagged in his chair, exhausted. He was glad they didn’t have another day like that scheduled for at least two weeks. For all that his goal had been to test John, it was a test of his own physical stamina as well.

It was Anthea who eventually summoned the energy to close the bays, blocking out the view of deep space. Mycroft nearly startled when John took in a deep breath. Although he had been working as hard as Mycroft, he was nearly silent when they were not working. Mycroft had forgotten he was there.

Their work had been far more synchronous than Mycroft had expected. John had worked with him, not against him, and with Anthea’s help the moving had been nearly effortless. Still, the concentration and the sheer effort took a lot out of Mycroft. He couldn’t even work up the energy to turn and look at either of the Talents that had worked with him. “Up you go,” Anthea said, taking Mycroft’s hand and helping him up. John was at his other side, very carefully helping Anthea to get Mycroft standing.

That was when Mycroft realized that John had not brought his cane with him that morning, nor did he have it on him now. John was paler than he had been that morning, his lips pursed into a tight line and his body fighting to not betray its weakness. “Food, then to bed with him,” Anthea told John.

Mycroft glanced from one to the other, frowning. She was going to leave that to John? Anthea must have seen it in his eyes, for she smiled, apologetic. “I heard something I have to take care of.”

“What?” Mycroft managed. He needed to know. After all, he was the Prime.

“Nothing to concern you,” she told him, cheerful despite her exhaustion. “John will get you right to bed, don’t you worry.”

“I’m worrying,” Mycroft muttered. He could see John’s faint smile out of the corner of his eyes. At least John didn’t look worried, Mycroft supposed. He hated it, though, showing so much weakness in front of someone he had known for barely two days. He much preferred keeping his employees at arm’s length.

“Which way to your chambers?” John asked, wrapping his arm about Mycroft’s shoulders and helping him stay upright.

“You didn’t know?” Mycroft nodded his head towards the requisite door.

“No, it wasn’t on the print out.” John helped him with the first few steps, until Mycroft could get his feet back under his control. It was strange, getting used to space, to moving things with his mind, and then having to come back to Earth. Disorienting, no matter how many times he didn’t.

“Oh.” Mycroft focused most of his attention on walking. He grimaced, unable to summon enough energy to produce his normal shields. There were shrieks and whines, thoughts and noises - enough to drive him mad, if he had to listen to it all day.

“May I?” asked John, bringing both of them to a stop. Mycroft looked at him quizzically. John carefully placed his fingers on Mycroft’s neck and then closed his eyes. Suddenly, the noise ceased. Mycroft stared at John, surprised.

“You - shield?” he managed.

“I had to learn,” John said, shrugging. He started them moving again, careful to keep his hand on Mycroft’s neck. “Military doctor, remember?”

_You shielded your patients?_ As tired as he was, talking by mind was easier.

“Yeah.” They arrived at Mycroft’s door, and Mycroft stared at it skeptically. “They didn’t really notice - most of the foot soldiers were T6s and lower, but the noise made it hard for their bodies to focus on healing.”

_That must have been exhausting._ Mycroft knew how much it took to shield himself, much less shield several other people.

John shrugged. “It was needed.” He glanced at the door and then back to Mycroft. Mycroft glared at the door until it opened. “Are your chambers shielded?”

Mycroft shook his head. _The last Prime had the shields removed because he thought he didn’t need them._

“Sounds like an arrogant sod,” John muttered, helping Mycroft inside. Mycroft let out a weak chuckle in agreement. “Where’s your food?”

_There’s a catering machine. Get something for yourself, I would hate to call Anthea if you passed out._ Mycroft lifted an eyebrow. John smiled faintly and assisted Mycroft in getting settled on the sofa.

“Any preference?” John inquired. He was staring at the dials and the various screens, searching through the menu.

_Number 23. Drink 7._ Mycroft watched John dial in the numbers. _What do you like?_

“There’s so much,” John mused. “Normal food.” He frowned at it.

_Try 39 for food, 3 for a drink,_ Mycroft recommended. _They’re not too rich. Should suffice, if all you’ve had is space and hospital food._

“Thanks.” John dialed in the last two numbers and stared at it.

_You have to hit the green button,_ Mycroft said.

“Oh.” John pressed it, and about five seconds there was a little ding and the food appeared in the slot.

_Impressed?_ Mycroft asked dryly.

“We didn’t have those on Wirenth. Or in the rehab hospitals,” John said with a shrug. He carried them over to the table, one at a time, careful not to drop anything.

_They are fond of their technology here,_ Mycroft mused, moving himself so that he could reach the food John sat in front of him.

“Where are you from, then?” John asked conversationally, tasting his drink. He considered it for a second and then drank some more.

_Taurine_ , Mycroft said after a moment. _The Holmes family._

“So you come from a line of Primes, then?” John took a bite of his dinner. Apparently he recognized Mycroft’s last name.

_It is not technically genetic_. Mycroft drank half of his drink, somewhat dehydrated. _One could argue that my parents simply got lucky with two T1 children._

“You have a sibling?” John cocked his head, looking at Mycroft out of the corner of his eyes.

_Yes. A younger brother, who is also a T1. He does not want to become a Prime, however._ Mycroft’s lips quirked into a twisted smile. _He wants to solve crimes._

“I bet your parents love that,” John said with a laugh. _He’s still on Taurine, then?_

Mycroft glanced at him, startled. John stared back, confused, until his cheeks coloured and he looked away. _You didn’t mean to do that?_

“No.” John didn’t look at Mycroft, instead focusing on his dinner. Silence spooled out between them for a few minutes.

_Yes, Sherlock is still on Taurine. He is more receptive to travel than I was, however, so it is likely he will be able to leave before he turns 18._ Mycroft focused on eating his food. He was hungry, after all.

“I have a sister,” John said after a moment. Mycroft stayed silent. “She’s a T6.”

_What does she do?_ Mycroft asked, feeling like it was only polite.

“Nothing.” John looked away, and the mood between them grew somber. Mycroft was careful to control his face, heeding Anthea’s words and not letting the slight frown he felt show. Why would John bring it up if that was what he was going to say? It didn’t make sense.

_I hope your food has been satisfactory,_ Mycroft said after a moment.

John smiled faintly, finishing it. “Yes, it has.” He sat the plates aside, glancing around.

_They go back in the slot they came from_ , Mycroft told him. John smiled his thanks and took his dishes over. _You can get another drink, if you wish._

“Thanks,” John said, but he didn’t order another one. Instead he came back to where he had been sitting, on the opposite side of the couch from Mycroft.

Mycroft didn’t know why, but he took his time finishing his food. They were quiet now, but it was a nice quiet, a peaceful quiet. Although John had long removed his fingers from Mycroft’s neck, his shield was still in effect. Mycroft stilled the smile before it could reach his face. No, none of that, he told himself sharply. There was no reason to smile. John was just doing his job.

“Here.” John grabbed the plate as soon as Mycroft finished, taking both it and the empty drink cup over to the food machine’s slot. “Do you need assistance changing?” If he was nervous about such a suggestion, he did not show it.

_No._ Mycroft tried to keep the horror of that suggestion out of his mental voice.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” John inclined his head in a good-bye and turned around. His leg dragged slightly, the faintest hint of a limp. Interesting, Mycroft mused. His door opened and closed as John passed through them, leaving Mycroft alone.

Mycroft closed his eyes, waiting for the shield to fail and for the noise to assault him. It was going to be morning before his faculties were restored enough to cast a shield of his own.

_It will last through morning_ , John said. Mycroft’s eyes flew open. He tentatively felt for the connection, but it was gone. Interesting. Mycroft stood, shaky and managed to make it to his room before having to sit down. John was far more fascinating than Mycroft had expected. He obviously had some medic-training, in order to serve as he did, but he had also had Tower training as well. That plus what Anthea would put him through over the next few days was going to make him a formidable T2.

Slowly, mechanically, Mycroft changed into his sleeping clothes. The absolute mental silence was blissful, something he never got tired of. It made up for the hours and hours he spent with everyone clamoring in the background. He sprawled out on his bed, body tired but mind too awake for sleep. John kept popping into his mind, with his weathered, vulnerable face. The way he had a cane at the beginning but seemingly didn’t need it to work - he liked being useful, then. Mycroft made a note to continue observing the pattern of its use and see what he could determine.

Mycroft couldn’t imagine what it would be like, serving as a medic on a war-torn planet. He could barely contemplate Sherlock’s existence back on Taurine. Or the constant travel that Sherlock was proposing as some sort of intergalactic detective. Mycroft shuddered at the thought. He couldn’t stand space. How John had tolerated the trip from the White Planet to Earth with such dignity, he had no idea.

What intrigued Mycroft the most was John’s reluctance to use the innate, telepathic connection that was inborn in each Talent. The majority of Talents that Mycroft knew generally preferred to speak mind to mind. They would not be overheard, and it required less effort than speaking out loud. It was true that opening one’s mind to those sorts of connection invited the noise, the people - Mycroft kept himself shielded the majority of the time to prevent others from accidentally stumbling over his thoughts and to keep himself from being swamped by others.

John, Mycroft suspected, was more worried about his thoughts leaking out than from others leaking in. He seemed less bothered by the babbling that was innate to the lesser Talents, the ones who could not shield their thoughts from spilling over. In fact, John had seemed to charm most of the Tower’s staff, something which was essential to the smooth running of the Tower. Mycroft rubbed his nose thoughtfully. There was just something about John, something that drew Mycroft towards him.

Not that it mattered. Mycroft wasn’t going to do anything, and he already knew that John wasn’t drawn to him in the same way. Mycroft stared at the ceiling for long minutes. It made him sad, for reasons that he could not understand. He was still going to see John, still be able to talk to him, still work with him. It did not matter that he found John interesting. Turning out the lights with a flick of his hand, Mycroft rolled over and went to sleep.


End file.
